


Frond of Erua

by 2x2verse (agent_florida)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Fingerfucking, Oral Sex, Species Swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/2x2verse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanaya, a Prospitian carapace, models a new dress for Rose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frond of Erua

The sound of heartbeats lies heavy and thick in the air when you zip her into her silk sheath. Though the movement is familiar to you, your fingertips still stutter, victim to tremors as you are very aware of the blood coursing through your veins. She is flawless. All the words you want to say to her, about how beautiful she is, how wonderful she treats you, how amazing her artistic vision, all of it sticks to the tip of your tongue and leaves you wishing she would turn to you and pluck the words out of your mouth with her lips.

Instead, she admires herself in the mirror. The fabric, swirling with jewel-like colors, is striking against the white of her shell, and the cut accentuates the wasp-like quality of her waist. You know she can sting – she’s sent you enough barbs for you to be sure of that. She reminds you of a scorpion (wrong constellation, you remind yourself, wrong constellation), an albino scorpion content enough to mind its own business until you provoke her anger.

She smiles at the shared reflection in the mirror, your head popping over her shoulder, and she runs her fingers through your short hair as a mark of affection. She might have said something, but the words aren’t quite as relevant as the tone. She sways a little in her newest creation, making sure it moves with her, and you’re not sure whether you want to dance with her and see how it moves around two pairs of legs instead of just one – or if you want to rip the thing to shreds as a prelude to another kind of dance.

She takes the decision away from you by guiding your shaking hands to the back of her dress again, a wordless command to unzip just as you had zipped. One hand works the fastener, but the other – the other trails behind, fingertips tracing over her shell, taking in the smooth, polished texture of porcelain. Warm porcelain, a comforting thing, like a hot mug of tea on a rainy afternoon while you ruminate over your latest shitty fanfiction. You can feel her plating shifting under your touch; you kiss her shoulder once the fabric of the dress leaves her bare, and she makes an endearing chitter-purr sound as she shivers.

When she steps out of the dress, she looks like the birth of Venus, the seafoam of silk around her feet giving way to perfect nudity. You would worship at her altar all night, call her a goddess in tongues man can’t even imagine, and she seems to have the same ideas you do if the way she clasps at your hands is any indication. Threading your fingers together, she gets you palm to palm and pulls you closer for a kiss. It is like kissing a statue, and you imagine that you are Pygmalion bringing her to life – for she has said as much herself, that you breathe a certain kind of vitality into her and spur her to ever-higher creative altitudes.

Then she pushes you back towards the mattress. The backs of your knees hit the edge of it first, and her overbearing force means you land on your back while she crawls over you. Ah, but this isn’t fair, her resounding nudity in contrast to the scraps of jade-green she made you as lingerie. She seems to know it, too, but she likes the texture interplay, skin soft and warm and still drastically different from silk and lace.

Given the way the two of you like to interact, you could stay pleasantly disrobed for the entire evening; she doesn’t seem to mind going nude herself, and you lost shame for your body a long time ago. But her hands and mouth are a little more insistent. Her tongue is long and pets at yours from the insides of your mouths, curling around and around yours and tugging gently until she triggers a soft, girlish moan from your throat. She brings a firm thigh up between your legs, and dampness from your underthings soaks through to her shell.

This is going a little further than either of you had anticipated.

She seems just as hesitant as you, but just as she put the brassiere on you, she knows how to take it off. In moments, your breasts – small, perfect handfuls in her carapace fingers – are free to her touch, and when she gently rolls one of your nipples between her digits, you sigh into her mouth and grip onto her plating and a deep groan comes from within her chest as you accidentally dig your nails a little too deeply into the sensitive flesh under her armor. It won’t come off, that armor, and it never will. It’s not symbolic, just representative of the way it is.

When she runs her hands down your sides, you feel like she could play your ribs as a xylophone, and really, the fact that you make a noise with each one she plucks on her way down means she might as well be tuning you to fever pitch as it is. Her thumbs graze over your hips, sneak their way between fabric and skin, and you know she wants to take them off, she wants you nude, but not just nude, intimately naked, bare before her eyes and ready and willing for her to explore.

You push away her hands. It’s not an indication of non-consent; you just want to push her over, get her further onto the bed, hover over her with her on her back and your body hanging over her like a flesh-and-bone question. Now it’s your thigh between her legs, your mouth on her neck, and the way she tilts her head back exposes parts of her shell that are normally covered by plating and by all the gods that never should have been the noise she makes when you gently tongue at a ridge is absolutely delectable and you wish she’d make it all night.

Your hand brushes over her front after you remove your panties – like a breastplate of armor, her chest has defined breasts but no nipples, and they don’t move like a human’s would – skims over the place that would be her navel, and then pauses, hesitant, at her mons. You draw back to look in her eyes, and they slowly open to meet yours before she realizes the intention behind you involuntarily licking and biting at your lips. Her reaction is to circle her beautiful fingers around your wrist like a bone bracelet and nudge your palm between her legs.

It should feel different here. Your vulva feels slick and almost pressurized, but her genitals… don’t seem to exist. All you feel when you move your fingers is the same kind of shell that covers the rest of her body – there’s a thick seam where the plating meets, but you know better than to dig your fingertips in and pry apart. That’s not how her body works, and it would hurt to force her like that. The shell feels different here, though. It’s not as smooth – more like silicone than anything else, that hard but velvety texture coating high-quality sex toys, and it’s warmer here, at her core, than on the entire rest of her body.

  1. As consolation for her lack of genitals, you press your palm vigorously up into her and grind it in circles. She gasps in, then lets out a small ‘ah!’ that you know for sure is unintentional. When she spreads her thighs to give you better access,  you know you’re doing something right. Just to be sure, you move away from kissing at her shell to focus your eyes on what you’re doing to her body.



And she begins to open for you.

It’s subtle at first. Hesitant. But the two bits of thick plating start to open along the seam, retracting into her other plating off to the side as she reveals what is beneath. And what’s beneath reminds you very much of your own body, but the way she’s opening is like a flower unsheathing itself for you and blooming before your eyes, a wild rose in a hothouse with dew clinging to the petals and heat radiating from its core.

A rose for a Rose.

You dip your finger inside the newly-revealed area and it feels so familiar to you that you squeal a little in delight. You’ll know how to please her now. She sighs, her breath warming the skin of your shoulder, and when you press a little more insistently into the plush dampness of her vulva, she brings her arms up around your shoulders and holds you close, clings to you. Losing control. All you do for a few moments is pet at her gently, moving her slickness around with your fingers and coating your hand in it, combing through her labia gently and tracing the outline of her entrance. (An appropriate name, as the whole of her is entrancing to you right now.)

To have better access, you move off to the side – and then she surprises you by insisting that your hips come even further towards her face. Closer. Closer. Until her meaning is absolutely clear and you realize that she wants to see you as you’ve seen her. That she wants to see you, all of you, bared for her and puffed up for her and flushed for her and dripping for her. The flush you feel between your legs spreads up to your belly, down to your thighs, and heat pools in your face, and still you don’t deny her. This is the most intimate thing you’ve ever done, allowed a partner to inspect what is between your legs at this level of scrutiny.

Your vulva hovers over her face, and you moan when she sighs into it. Her fingers, hesitant and unsure, go to pet at you as you did for her – and then when you realize that your skin will not part any further, she has no qualms about manipulating what is there. Her fingers are still hard, insistent things, and when the pad of her thumb even manages to brush against your clit, you jump a little, startling, and clench somewhere in a place too deep for words.

She must have something analogous. Your thumb sweeps up to the apex of her plating, the triangle where her slit ends, and when you press into the small divot of skin exposed there, she makes a keening noise that you can practically feel in your cunt. Yes, that small indent of flesh is like a clitoris for her, you surmise as you continue to swirl the tip of your middle finger in her opening. You will not force this. You want her to open for you. She’s so beautiful like this, and you have all night, truly.

For having a space aspect, she seems to have dilated the entire world down to the two of you on this bed, the explorations of your fingers and the heat within your bodies, the noises in your throats and the tightening in your gut. One of her tapered fingertips begins to press into you and you can feel yourself accommodating; the ridge of her knuckle feels fantastic as it breaches you, and the next feels just as good, until her finger is deep in you to where it joins her hand. It feels good. It feels very, very good to be filled by her. That slim, dexterous finger is fantastic inside of you.

Your own feel clumsy and awkward as you gently press against her to do the same to her. She withdraws from you, fast enough to make an embarrassing squelching sound, and grips onto the backs of your thighs so hard you swear you’ll have puncture marks, but you can practically feel her gushing onto your finger as you enter her this way. She doesn’t tell you to stop, and in fact, as you keep going, you can feel her channel start to pull with you, move with you, letting you in, letting you play, letting you pleasure.

Her grip on your thighs stops being quite so demanding and she sighs, the feel of it whispering straight through your curls, as you thrust in to the base of your finger. Slowly, like the tidal roll of the sea, you pull out, press in. Pull out, press in. Until you’re leisurely fucking her with your finger and her hips move with you. Until you can move a second one inside her and stretch her just that little bit more. At each movement she makes a little purring noise that chitters through the scales of her neck, a sound that endears you to her even more. Your other hand moves along her thigh, petting and pressing, and your mouth rains kisses on the place where leg meets torso, where plates align.

This seems to give her an idea. The seam where your buttock hangs ponderously over your thighs is caressed by her thumb, then her tongue – that long, sinuous carapace tongue – and just thinking about the way it works when inside your mouth is enough for you to gush out just a little more, ratcheting up the pressure you feel between your legs until you nearly feel like crying out and begging for relief. You know what she’s going to do, but she seems to be taking her time with it – just as, you suppose, you have been taking your time with her. This is all new to her too, you must remind yourself, and she is more hesitant and cautious than you.

She uses her tongue to trace the outlines of your labia, the point of it parting your folds in three separate places. When it bumps up against your urethra, you jump away – not good, not good – and she avoids the area on her next pass. But she still won’t tongue your clit or your slit. It’s as if she doesn’t feel entitled to do so, even when you have two fingers leisurely pumping in and out of her, even when you’re making love to her the only way you yet know how.

Then the point of her tongue plunges past your entrance and the whole of it slides inside you.

You moan against the plating of her thigh, involuntarily curling your fingers inside of her as your other hand moves into a fist at the feeling. The feel of your fingertips pressing up against a sensitive spot must have made her moan, too, because you can hear the remnant vibrations of the sound inside of you, and oh wow you breathe into the seam of her hip and move your hips around her and she just thrusts, thrusts with her tongue like you are with your fingers, and it’s thick and wet and fills you perfectly and you never knew that this was what you dreamed of but all of them are coming true.

It feels like both of you are bathed in light, the warmth of it shining out from under your skin and her shell and combining to make every point of contact between your bodies feel like a searing sexual sensation. You move in her, she moves in you. You whisper nonsense vocabulary into her plating and she writes with her fingertips on your legs. You sneak in another finger alongside the first two, and she folds her tongue in half, sacrificing length for girth as the tip runs up to tickle at your clit. You can feel the hint of her razor-sharp teeth against your folds, and she can likely feel the bite of your fingernails as you grip onto her a little too harshly. You’re breathing faster and faster, and you can feel every exhale of hers on the pucker she’s not paid any attention to. Sensation overwhelms and compounds until you feel like you’re refracting a ray through a diamond and creating rainbows from white, and she drinks you up and eats you out while you fuck her and both of your thighs tense and she starts to speak in Prospitian and you chant in the eldritch tongues of your former masters before

before

crash like ocean wave light and space moving together to create something entirely out of the realm of physics and she’s divining between your thighs and you’re seeing into her soul and you move with her crest with her drown with her and

breathe

just breathe.

You just breathe for a moment. She gently extricates her tongue from you, and you can hear the wet slurp as she takes it back into her mouth. Her channel starts to clamp down around you, helping you to ease out your fingers without causing discomfort. When your trembling thighs refuse to hold you upright, she guides you to collapse at her side, the two of you curling in on each other like yin-yanging cats. Purring like cats, too.

She touches your hair. It’s soothing to both of you. Having none herself, she finds it fascinating, and the texture of her fingers on your scalp helps you to relax and fall asleep. To do the same to her, you trace the outlines of her plates, the smallest ones on her sides and back that help her to move from side to side. You kiss and you kiss and you kiss again and you are oh so very sleepy and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because she’s here. Here, now, with you. Sharing her space with you.


End file.
